Give The Devil His Due (36 page)

       I turned to Peach and whispered, ‘Vaughan'll get soaked.’

       Peach shook his head. ‘No he won't, he'll be under a tree.’

       I was still concerned. ‘He's an old man.’

       ‘Yes, but he's not stupid.’

       We composed ourselves. Phil tried the handle on the door. It gave a little creak. Peachy's eyes opened really wide and his eyebrows turned down at the centre. He was scowling big-time.

       The Housemaster had the look of a man about to become ever so slightly violent and the Prefect might be on the receiving end if he wasn't careful. Peach tapped Phil on the shoulder and made a calm-down gesture with both hands. As far as I could see, it was Peach that needed calming.

       Producing a can of WD-40 from his rucksack, Peach sprayed both hinges and around the handle area. Phil waited a few seconds for the lubricant to take effect and tried again. There was virtually no sound. Phil held the door open. Peach and I went through. Phil followed us, carefully closing it behind him.

       We were in a short, open passageway connected to the main corridor that led to the entrance hall. We crept along the passageway, bearing our weight down very lightly, making as little noise as possible. We turned left into the corridor. There were two doors off to our right, the furthest away being our goal – the library.

       Just beyond the library door, maybe about thirty feet or so and at right angles, was an archway going into the main entrance hall. The sound of a small television could be heard. Judging by the
piaow-piaow
sounds, someone was watching a Western. I couldn't hear any snoring, so assumed that whoever was in front of that TV was awake.

       One by one, we made our way up the corridor to the entrance of the library. Peach tried the door handle. He managed to open it in complete silence. We slipped inside and Peach closed the door. At the far end of the room was another door which we assumed led into the main entrance hall. Peach gave us a
hold-position
signal; then he took a thick black cloth from his rucksack and laid it along the bottom edge of the door. There would be no light escaping into the hall.

       We switched on our headlights. I marvelled at the grandeur of the room. Each wall had about eight or nine rows of bookshelves and the room was split into two by a pillared arch with statues on either side. The ceiling was adorned with incredibly beautiful plasterwork. Even in the low light it looked magnificent.

       Peach signalled Phil and me to take one long wall between us. He would take the other. We were looking for books that had brown and green leather binding with gilt lettering on the spine. The letters we sought were JTM (James Tobias Moncourt) with accompanying Roman numerals. There were three volumes, so our eyes were concentrating on any group-of-three books that looked almost identical.

       Phil was scanning the lower shelves and I the upper. He seemed to be going twice as fast as me. I wondered if he was doing a thorough job. We soon came to the end of one section of our wall.

       Vaughan’s voice was suddenly in our headsets. ‘Principal to Housemaster.’ Everyone froze.

       ‘Principal to Housemaster.’

       Peach double-clicked the talk-button twice on his radio unit. This was code to the transmitter of the message indicating, ‘I'm in a situation where I cannot speak.’

       Vaughan continued. ‘One-patrol entering classroom door: take care.’

       Peach gave another two clicks to signify the message had been received. The three of us switched off our headlights. My heart was trying to break out of my chest. There was the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by footsteps outside the library door. They were getting louder as they moved along the corridor.

       The footsteps halted, a male coughed. Wooden chair legs were scraped across a hard surface. Then ... channel flicking. The guy was trying to find something he wanted to watch on his little telly.

       We'd assumed that no-one would’ve been walking the grounds of the house on a night like this. What if he'd caught us on the stairwell? Frightening stuff. I needed another pee. No wonder burglars shat and peed in their victims’ lounges and bedrooms. It all made sense now.

       One-patrol stopped flicking. He was watching the shopping channel.

       Peach switched his headlight back on, Phil and I followed suit. We started scanning again and had soon covered both sides of the long walls. It was time to turn our attention to the ends of the room. A few minutes later I looked at Phil but he shook his head.

       I mouthed silently to him, ‘Are you sure?’

       He nodded. I turned to face Peach and showed him a thumbs-down. He beckoned us with his left hand. We were leaving; time for plan B. Phil removed the cloth from the base of the door and we exited the library with stealth. As we did so we could hear One-patrol channel flicking again.

       We went through the door and to the stairwell, closing it behind us. The rumbles of thunder outside were clearly audible. Inside the stairwell Peach whispered to us, ‘It's the basement then.’

       Down the flights we went until we could go no further. There was a door in front of us. Peach tried the handle – it was locked and needed picking.

       ‘Right, you and Phil go and get Vaughan and the trolley. Leave your rucksacks with me.’

       Peach whispered into his headset. ‘Housemaster to Principal.’

       ‘Go ahead Housemaster.’

       ‘Prefect and New Boy coming out.’

       ‘Thank you Housemaster.’

       Phil and I made our way up the stairs. I watched as he pressed the little keypad
4531
. There was a soft
click
from the door latch as the LED turned green. Through the door we went, a minute or so later we were back with Vaughan.

       Vaughan greeted us. ‘I take it that you have not had a fruitful expedition thus far chaps?’

       ‘You take it right Vaughan. Peach is at the basement but the door is locked. He can't get in,’ Phil replied.

       ‘Well, maybe I can be of some assistance. Lead the way.’

       Phil and I grabbed the trolley. It didn't seem quite so heavy but maybe not having our rucksacks on was the reason for this. And lighter though it may have felt, our movement had become hampered, trying to stay low while carrying it.

       In a short while we were back with Peach. Vaughan went to work on the door. It took even longer than the padlock outside but in the end he got there. The lock clicked, he pushed the handle down, and the door creaked. It was ill-fitting in the frame. No amount of WD-40 was going to cure that.

       We entered the basement. Peach quickly closed the door, placing the heavy black cloth across its base. As we looked around the room it became apparent that there were no windows or skylights.

       Vaughan spoke. ‘Trevor, it’s OK. You can use the room light.’

       Peach turned and looked around. On the wall was an antiquated electric light switch; dome-shaped, with the switch lever located at its centre. If I‘d had to guess I’d have said it was brass, though it was too dirty to really be sure.

       The light on, we all turned our headlights off. As we gazed around the room, one thing was obvious – this room was the Mansion’s dumping ground. There were filing cabinets, rolled up carpets, old paintings in dire need of restoration, vases … you name it, it was all here and gathering dust.

       I looked at Peach. ‘So where's the safe then?’

       Peach shrugged his shoulders.

       Vaughan looked at me. ‘Eyes left.’

       I looked to my left and still couldn't see anything. ‘Where?’

       ‘Look again.’

       I looked again, and then I spotted something. There was a thin straight edge of green metal protruding from the right hand side of a large painting’s frame. The painting had been placed on the floor and propped up against the front of the strongbox.

       Vaughan took charge. ‘Right then chaps, we'd better make some room. Quiet as you can. Clear away everything around it.’

       We did as we were told and soon the safe was revealed in all her dusty glory. She stood there, on the floor, from base to top almost waist-height; a citadel, completely enveloped in green enamel, belied only by some gilt lettering announcing her maker:
The Weddon & Mather Safe Company Inc

       Vaughan was shaking his head. Phil looked at him. ‘What's the matter?’

       ‘She’s American dear boy, American.’

       ‘Can you open it?’

       ‘I have no doubt I can, but …’

       ‘But what?’

       ‘… I have not attempted a
Weddon
before, and to do so now, without a copy of the blueprint, might be a tad overambitious. Our friends across the pond are such rotten sports. They like to use defensive countermeasures, which is awfully bad form if you ask me. This is, Old Bean “one for the workshop”, as they say!’

       I moved the trolley towards the safe in readiness for us to lift it on.

       ‘Will, what, may I ask, are you doing?’ said Vaughan.

       ‘I'm going to get the safe on the trolley, so we can get our arses out of here.’

       ‘I don't think you are.’

       ‘Come on Phil, give us a hand.’ Phil came over and we tried to move the safe but it wouldn't budge. I looked at Vaughan. ‘It's bloody heavier than I thought. We'll never get this to the boat.’

       ‘Will, have you forgotten our little chat about anchoring?’

       I suddenly remembered, all too vividly. I was filled with dread.

       Vaughan spoke again. ‘Put the trolley over there.’ He pointed towards an empty patch of floor space. ‘Now, watch and learn, my friend.’

       Vaughan took a large cloth out of Peach’s rucksack and laid it on the floor. He then proceeded to unpack the rucksacks that Phil and I had been carrying, carefully placing everything they contained on to the cloth. There were a couple of short handled sledge hammers, two heavy crowbars and several wedges about one and a half inches in height at their tallest point. They looked like door wedges – but were made out of high-strength steel.

       Next was a ball of metal cord, and a strange-looking gun-like object with a length of tubing (a rough estimate would be two feet) attached that had a nozzle on the end. There was a spoon and a jar of what I can only describe as ‘goo’. With some small pieces of material, about half-a-dozen scalpels (well they looked like scalpels to me), a roll of sticky tape, and last, a little foam cushion – the toolkit was complete.

       Vaughan picked up one of the scalpels and the foam cushion and placed the cushion by the side of the safe. Kneeling on it, he began to scrape away the area where the safe met the stone floor.

       'Right, do you see what I'm doing? One of you do the same on the other side and make sure that you keep the angle as shallow as possible. We don’t want to go downwards; we want to go across.’ Peachy grabbed a scalpel and followed Vaughan’s instructions. Vaughan threw his scalpel down and picked up another with a sharper blade, occasionally stopping to blow away the powdery stone that he'd scraped out.

       As soon as he was satisfied with his work, he turned his attention to Peachy's.

       ‘Very good Trevor. You're almost there. A little more and we'll be done.’ Peach continued and blew the powder away just like Vaughan.

       The Principal touched the Housemaster’s shoulder. ‘There, that's far enough.’

       He then lined the pointed end of each wedge up against the slits that he and Peach had created. At the thick end of the wedge he placed a small piece of material and secured it with a piece of tape.

       ‘Philip, I want you to stand with your back to the right side of the safe, and on my command, I want you to hit that wedge as hard as you possibly can. Trevor, I want you to do exactly the same on the other side.

       ‘Now, before we do this there are a few things you must make sure of. First, you must hit each wedge at exactly the same moment – that will mean there is only one bang. Second, make absolutely certain you hit the wedge – and not the side of the safe. Otherwise we'll have a very loud metal-on-metal contact. Line it up and have a dummy run.

       They both lined up their respective wedges and swung without actually hitting anything.

       ‘I shall count to three, and in place of “four” you will hit the wedges. Is that clear?’ They both looked at Vaughan and nodded.

       ‘OK then: One ... Two ... Three ...’ WHAM!

       Phil and Peach gave the wedges a simultaneous smack with the hammers. The safe had moved slightly but not enough as far as Vaughan was concerned.

       ‘OK boys. Same again only harder.’ Vaughan started to count.

       ‘One … Two … Three ...’ WHAM!

       Peach and Phil gave the little bastards something serious to think about. The wedges had been driven in underneath each side of the safe – lifting it off the ground about half an inch.

       Phil was moaning. ‘I think I've damaged my fucking shoulder.’

       Vaughan looked at him. ‘Technique, Philip, it's all about technique.’

       ‘Bollocks to technique. I need a painkiller.’

       Peach thought for a moment. ‘I’m sure I’ve got some back on the boat.’ Phil’s face did not display an expression of gratitude as his need was immediate and Peachy’s far-away tablets, at this point in time, were of no use whatsoever.

       Vaughan was concentrating; he’d taken his headlight off and was now shining it in the gap between the safe and the floor. ‘Look! There he is, the little bugger!’

       In the centre about four inches back from the front of the safe was a heavy duty bolt.

       ‘Will, as Philip is injured, you can help here.’ He was opening the jar of goo, and spooned it into the reservoir of the grease gun.

       ‘When I ask for it, I want you to pump that trigger two or three times and make sure that the paste goes on to the bolt.’

       ‘OK no problem.’ I lined up the nozzle, and pumped the trigger a couple of times.